The General
by Gunlord500
Summary: The shadows of Nevassa hide many secrets...massive spoilers for Path of Radiance, DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU HAVE COMPLETED THE GAME


The General

Gunlord500

Nevassa never slept, even in the dead of night. Torches burned in the streets as arms dealers peddled their tools of death, taverns and inns bustled with activity as mercenaries rested for future battles, and the cries of sleazy prostitutes, orphaned children, and destitute beggars resonated throughout the squalid alleys in a cacophony of misery as loud under the stars as it was under the burning sun.

In the midst of the capital city's perpetual noise and confusion, not a single soul noticed the small, cloaked figure silently and steadily making her way towards the massive fortress that served as the seat of Daein's government. The thin black robes she wore sheathed her petite form in the shadows of the grim, unadorned facades that loomed above Nevassa's streets, and her slipper-clad feet made no sound upon the battered cobblestone walkways leading to her destination.

She paused a moment to take a look at a city which she had never before seen and likely never would again. Her gaze first fell upon a haggard, emaciated vagrant dragging her wailing children behind her, and then to a grim-faced band of heavily-armed soldiers who passed by without giving the unfortunate mother so much as a glance. The foreigner drew breath and sighed quietly. Despite months of traveling in their lands, she could not get used to the human capacity for inhumanity. "They ignore the suffering of their own countrymen in order to go out and spread more of it." she thought to herself. She then blinked and shook her head, reminding herself that time was too short to waste dwelling on such thoughts. She continued on, not even stopping to catch her breath until she stood in front of the massive, ominous gates which bade entry to the dwelling of the most dangerous man in all of Tellius.

She had heard tales of Ashnard's prowess in battle, of course—almost everyone who set foot in Daein knew what the terrible king was capable of. Wild tales about the man circulated throughout every sellsword's guild and soldier's barracks, and they would be unbelievable had they not been so similar anywhere they were told—inside and outside of Daein. Ashnard's magic sword could slice through the air itself. He single-handedly annihilated a platoon of Begnion's finest Pegasus knights, laughing wildly over the shattered, bloody bodies of the young women and their mounts. Daein's territorial expansion in recent years was due almost entirely to his involvement in its skirmishes. The foreigner would have dismissed these claims as nationalistic claptrap, had they not been confirmed by the best spies her grandfather could afford—and her grandfather himself.

She did not care, however. She would stand against the Dark God itself to be with her beloved. A single man would not offer her the slightest pause.

The interloper surveyed the massive castle gates, knowing that any attempt to bypass them would almost certainly be suicide. There were other means of entry to Ashnard's domain, however. She closed her eyes for a moment, visualizing the layout of the mad king's entire fortress. She had no need to burden herself with maps or floor plans—a single night studying the ones her grandfather had provided left her with everything she needed to know. The intruder darted east, passing the impregnable gates entirely and heading down a dark side alley. She paid no heed to the sleeping tramps, piles of offal, and overpowering stench that surrounded her as she made her way to the end of the alley—a dead end.

Or so it seemed.

She stood in front of a particularly large, putrid pile of garbage, ignoring the disgusting smells emanating from it. The foreigner kneeled down and plunged her arms into the filth, ripping and tearing at it with the fervor of a madman. Her delicate, finely-boned hands were soon slimy and soiled, but she had successfully excavated a small clearing in the trash heap, revealing her true objective.

A small, rusted sewer grate, forgotten for years, lay under the reeking mound of detritus.

Gritting her teeth, the interloper seized the grating as firmly as she could. She tossed back her head as she pulled on it with superhuman strength, bending and twisting the metal in ways a human of her slight build would never be able to do. The rusted iron offered little resistance, and soon broke free with a resounding screech that echoed throughout the dismal alleyway.

The sound was loud enough to wake those few vagrants not laid low by drunkenness or death, but all they could see was a small, quick shadow disappearing into the moonlit silhouette of a mound of trash.

The interloper carefully and quietly descended the rusty, rickety ladder which led to one of Nevassa's ancient, forgotten aqueducts. A city as large as Nevassa had dire need of a massive, sprawling sewer system, and the resultant labyrinth of drains, tunnels, and pipelines had grown so complex over the centuries that even the city planners had no idea of how extensive it truly was. Rumor had it that the ancient, expansive sewerways touched every last nook and cranny of the great capital of Daein.

Including the inner sanctum of Ashnard's fortress itself.

The smell of garbage and excrement was far more rancid in these dark tunnels than in the alleyways above, but the interloper would not be dissuaded. She held a fold of her dark robes over her nose and mouth to block out the stench and began to run through the pitch-black corridors. She carried no light to penetrate the darkness, nor a map to find her way through the winding maze of sewers. Still, she continued unhindered on her course, her steps as swift and sure as those of a man walking in his own abode in broad daylight. Her eyes functioned as well in utter darkness as they did in bright light, and she had spent the last night committing to memory a century-old map of Nevassa's most complicated drainage tunnels.

Besides, she felt the presence of her beloved above her, growing stronger with each step she took. That alone would be enough to guide her way.

The intruder heard the sound of rushing water, and hurried quickly to its source. She soon stood in front of a churning river of surprisingly clean water, and the intruder knew there was only one source from which this stream could come.

Taking a great, deep breath, she dove into the roiling waters, swimming against the current. Almost like a mountain salmon, she traversed the raging current quickly and skillfully, without even once stopping to take a breath. As she progressed, however, the current grew stronger and stronger. Just as it became almost overpowering, however, the interloper reached its source--a large, submerged drain reinforced with heavy steel bars. By this time, the foreigner felt a slow burn within her chest, and knew she was running out of air. Desperately, she gripped the metal as firmly as she could, and once again brought her preternatural strength to bear. Her thin arms screamed with pain from the task they were undertaking, but it was the metal of the grate which was first to give. Slowly, ponderously, the heavy bars bent outwards, providing the small infiltrator with just enough room to squeeze through. Lungs aching with pain, she pushed herself through the opening she had created and swam upwards as fast as she could. Her head broke through the water's surface, and she gladly took in the welcomed air with great, hungry gasps.

No sooner had she risen to the surface than she needed to submerge herself again, for a patrolling guard had just happened to peer curiously into the new waterway she had entered. In her haste to relieve her starved lungs, the interloper had almost forgotten where she was.

She was floating in one of the many small canals which crisscrossed the interior of Ashnard's inner chambers.

Sinking into the dark waters until the guard had passed, the intruder poked her head above the rim of the narrow canal, looking for any other watchful eyes. The first guard had continued on his rounds, and no other followed him. Satisfied that she would not be detected at the moment, the interloper quietly hoisted herself out of the canal and surveyed her surroundings. She stood right next to Ashnard's throne room--if she followed the wall to her left, she would come to its doorway. Walking slowly and silently, that was exactly what she did, until she heard a trio of hushed voices echoing in the corridor ahead of her. Immediately flattening herself against the wall, she edged up towards the corner and peered surreptitiously past it to hear what the three men were talking about.

They stood in front of the entrance to the terrible king's throne room, and they were clad in the ebon, gilded raiments of Daein's royal guard. The subject of their conversation soon revealed why they were so careful to keep their voices down.

"It's so strange," one of them whispered, "I could never understand why Ashnard sleeps on his throne instead of in the royal quarters. After months of sleeping in those damned bunks, layin' myself down on a nice bed is the closest thing to paradise I can imagine, and the king prolly has the nicest crib in this whole nation! But all he does is sit himself down on his fancy chair, close his eyes, and drift off! Doesn't even bother to take off that armor or sword of his! I just can't wrap my head around that…"

"His reasoning is not so difficult to understand, simpleton," a harsher voice growled, "An assassin's knife slides more easily into a prone back than an armored, upright chest."

"And there's certainly no shortage of people who'd like to see our king dead," a third voice interjected. "From his actions as of late, I honestly wonder if Ashnard has our country's best interests at heart."

The first man gasped audibly. "Do ye know what ye're sayin'? Our king'd soon as have yer head if he heard ye talkin' like that!"

"And that is precisely why you must keep your voice down, you fool!" the second guard hissed. "In any case, our compatriot is more than correct. What could Daein possibly have to gain from a surprise attack on Crimea? There's absolutely no reason to launch a full campaign!"

"Simple!" the first man snorted indignantly. "Those dirty Crimeans have gotten way too friendly with those dirty sub-humans from the forests! We can't just turn our noses at that! It's just wrong!"

The second guard sighed heavily, and when he spoke again, his tone had softened considerably. "Look, my friend, I hate those half-beast freaks as much as you do. But if we want to punish those Crimeans for their associations with those things, all-out war isn't the right way! We should have asked Begnion to levy sanctions on them first, and see if that couldn't have brought them to their senses."

Hearing this latest turn in the guards' conversation, the interloper sighed softly in resignation. She was well aware of the hatred between beorc and laguz, but had no idea it ran so deep. Still, she had heard everything she needed to from the three guards. Her quarry sat in the great throne behind them, and she could afford to waste no more time listening to their conversation. Reaching into the folds of her robe, she produced a small metal box shut with a clasp that resembled the head of a sleeping maiden. Undoing the face from the hook behind it, the interloper opened the box to reveal a small pile of fine blue powder. She smiled in triumph--despite her time underwater, the box had kept its contents perfectly dry. While the guards were occupied chatting amongst themselves, the infiltrator quickly stepped beyond the corner she hid behind and raised the open box to her face. Taking the utmost care not to inhale a single speck of its contents, she softly blew over the pile of dust, sending a pale blue cloud floating gently towards the soldiers. They initially showed no reaction as it settled over them. Soon enough, however, one of them yawned heavily.

"Hey, guys," the 'simpleton' mumbled drowsily, "Is it just me, or are you startin' to get a lil' tired?"

"You idiot," the harsh voice said, "If you fall asleep now, you'll be in a world of…of…aaahhh, never mind…"

Both of them slid peacefully to the floor, and the third man could only yawn and mutter, "Wait, I smell something funny," before joining his comrades in sweet oblivion.

As the cloud dissipated over the sleeping soldiers, its maker did not pause to look over her handiwork. Stepping carefully over their prone bodies, she took out a small, innocuous-looking key to deal with the last obstacle standing in her way--the ornate, warded lock which sealed away the King of Daein.

Licking her lips nervously, she placed the key into the hole. To acquire a forgery of the throne room's master key had cost a small fortune, and she hoped it had not been wasted. Her heart skipped a beat as the key turned, and was then flooded with relief as the heavy bolt slid to the side and unlocked the doors. Pushing them apart as quietly as possible, she stood on a long, gorgeously gilt rug which extended the distance between her and her final task.

The terrible king of Daein reclined on his grand throne, fully armored with his sword resting by his side. Even in sleep, he was a fearsome sight to behold. His hard, jagged face was twisted into a cruel smirk--likely brought about by dreams of bloodshed other men would deem nightmares--and his eyes seemed to burn even under their heavy lids. If he was this intimidating while asleep, he would truly be terrifying awake.

Even so, he was still only a man, and there were far stronger beings in this world than mere men.

"Wake up, king of Daein," the interloper said, "we have matters to discuss."

A low chuckle that seemed more like a growl escaped Ashnard's curled lips, yet he still kept his eyes closed. "No mere assassin, are you? I'm very impressed. To gain egress to my domain by means of its sewers…you must be as cunning as you are determined."

The intruder merely nodded. "If you know that much, you should also know why I am here. I am not concerned with you or your war. I only want Rajaion returned to me. You will do so, or I will destroy you."

Ashnard threw back his head and laughed. "You believe you can simply walk into my own castle and ask me to hand over one of my own possessions? Such audacity! You continue to impress me, little girl. But I'm afraid I must deny your request. It was no easy task to acquire my new slave, and I'm afraid I won't give him up so easily!"

The intruder closed her eyes, and her clenched fists were the only indication of the anger she felt. "I thought as much," she said calmly. "I am prepared to kill you and every human in this castle to return to Rajaion's side. You brought this upon yourself, king of Daein."

The intruder tossed aside her robes to reveal a dark-skinned, pink-haired girl clad in the ancient cerements of Goldoa, dominion of the dragon tribe. Clasping her hands in front of her chest, the interloper focused the mystic energies inside of her to galvanize her awesome transformation. Burning, glowing smoke enveloped her small form, shining so brightly that even Ashnard had to avert his eyes. The noise and light had finally roused all of the king's royal guard, and they rushed into the throne room to see what was happening. They could only gape in astonishment at the radiant maelstrom before them, and when it at last subsided, their surprise turned into outright terror.

Great leathery wings slowly beat across a massive, crimson back. A tail as long as thick as a tree trunk lay coiled menacingly along the floor. And a gaping, dagger-filled maw snarled furiously at the ruler of Daein, smoke pouring out with every breath it took.

The commander of Ashnard's royal guard, a man who had seen many battles and faced down many of Tellius' best warriors, could only stutter, "D…Dra…DRAGON!" before dropping his weapons and fleeing in panic, with the rest of his men following close behind.

"Such cowardice," Ashnard chuckled, amused at the pathetic display. "I'll have to slaughter every last one of them next morning. Worthless wretches…"

"Your men are wiser than you, king," the dragon roared, "I offer you one last chance. Free Rajaion, and I will let you live."

The mad king merely smiled and picked up his sword. "I haven't fought a dragon in quite a while. I do hope you'll provide more of a challenge than your compatriots!"

Roaring in anger, the dragoness raised her head and took a great breath. With a flash of light and a surge of heat, she vomited out a storm of blaze and brimstone, bathing the king of Daein in unearthly flames that seared flesh more viciously than the most potent spell conjured by any mortal wizard. The dragoness snorted in triumph as she watched the human burn. "Foolish man," she growled to herself. "He should never have taken my Rajaion away from me…"

As the flames subsided, however, the beast's slitted eyes widened in surprise. Ashnard stood almost completely unharmed among the smoldering cinders of his throne, laughing mockingly. "Absolutely pathetic!" he sneered, "I hoped you would provide a greater challenge, but it seemed I was wrong. Now, to put an end to you!"

Without taking a single step forward, Ashnard raised his sword and hacked at the air before him. The dragoness stepped back, not knowing what the man was doing, but soon found out as a screeching wail filled her ears and a searing pain tore through her shoulder. Staring to her right in shock, the laguz saw only a bloody stump where her wing once extended. "H…how?" she faltered incredulously. The bloodthirsty warrior only laughed. "Not even a dragon can stand up to Gurgurant!" he screamed, and brought his sword down again.

In the moments before she lost consciousness, the dragoness saw the true power of the evil sword. The vortex produced as Ashnard sliced through the air surged towards her with unholy speed, and the Goldoan realized that the gusts of wind produced by a swing of Ashnard's weapon were as dangerous as the eldritch blade itself.

That was all she could think of before fiery agony exploded all across her chest, and she collapsed to the ground in unconsciousness, her dark blood pooling about her massive form.

Ashnard spat as he walked up to her prone body, holding Gurgurant above her neck. "I'm already bored with you. If you're the best Goldoa has to offer, I fail to see—"

A mammoth, ear-splitting roar interrupted the mad king, followed by a tremor that shook his castle to its very foundation. Ashnard heard the screams of his men as they fled from some gigantic entity heading towards his throne room, and he smiled sadistically as he heard their cries cut short. "Saved me the trouble of executing them!" he laughed, and readied his weapon just as the great beast which slaughtered his guards burst through the wall.

The vicious creature which stepped into the room was a mighty dragon, much like the intruder who lay on the floor. This beast was much larger, however, and his scales were pitch-black rather than red. Ashnard only grinned at this spectacle. "Well, well, Rajaion! Come to defend your master or your countrywoman? I do hope it's the former, it would be a pity to have to destroy you as well!"

As the dragon turned his golden eyes towards the prone, bleeding laguz, however, any willingness to do battle on his part evaporated. A great, unfathomable sadness seemed to wrack his very being, and he raised his head to howl in pure, unadulterated sorrow. He gently lapped at the red dragon's wounds with his tongue, attempting to alleviate her pain. Warped and twisted as he was by his cruel master, he still had enough of a soul for a single name to escape his hideous jaws.

"E…Ena…"

The wounded dragoness lifted her head to look at the distorted monster before her. "Rajaion," she gasped, "what have they done to you? Please…leave here…I don't care what happens to me…just escape!"

Watching this display, a sly, devious smile spread across Ashnard's face. "You're quite devoted to this wretch, aren't you, little dragon girl?"

Ena raised her head and spat blood at the king, eliciting nothing but scornful laughter. "Kill me and end this charade, human," she hissed, "If I cannot by my love's side, I care not what happens to me."

"How pitiful," Ashnard smirked, "you came so far from your homeland, endured so much, and would willingly die, all for the twisted black thing licking at your wounds? If there is any emotion more foolish than 'love,' I don't know what it is."

The dragoness, too weak to respond, simply stared up at her tormentor with hate-filled eyes.

"Still, it's quite useful as a means of control," Ashnard said. "Here, drink this." Kneeling over Ena's mouth, he took a small blue bottle from the heavy belt slung about his armored waist. Pouring the contents down the sub-human's gullet, he watched in satisfaction as her eyes widened in surprise. The gaping cut across her chest clotted and scarred over in a matter of moments. The giant stump behind her shoulder began to grow and expand, becoming another wing as well-formed as if it had never been severed. As she stood up off of the floor, she could only gaze down in wonder at her wholly unexpected savior.

"I shall let you live, dragon girl," Ashnard said. "Yes, I will not separate you from your beloved. I am afraid I won't release him from his bondage, however…"

Ena growled and narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "What are you talking about? I won't be tricked so easily!"

"Indeed you won't!" the king replied. "You have an undeniably sharp mind to bypass my castle's defenses as well as you did, especially without the aid of maps or magic! Yes, I could certainly use an intellect like yours in my army. I have a proposition for you, laguz. Serve me as a tactician. If you do, you shall be at your precious Rajaion's side for as long as you wish."

Ena remained silent, simply glowering down at the human king.

"Well, you certainly don't have to accept my offer," Ashnard shrugged, "At least, if you can live with the prospect of being eternally separated from your dear mate…"

The laguz slumped her shoulders in defeat. As powerful as she was, she could not stand up to Ashnard, and she could not bear being away from her beloved Rajaion. "Very well, king of Daein. I accept your offer. If…if I can stay close to him, I do not care what happens to me or what I must do."

For a moment that seemed like an eternity, Ashnard remained silent. Finally, he spoke the words that would seal the dragon girl's fate.

"You are no longer a Goldoan. From this day forth, you serve Ashnard, lord of Daein. Rise, and lead our armies to victory…General Ena."


End file.
